There are moments in life when a country doesn’t just welcome you—it lifts you. Egypt did that for me, and it did so through the hands, hearts, and generosity of the people I met along the way. I traveled for eleven days through Cairo, Giza, Luxor, Aswan, and Abu Simbel, often alone but never truly alone, because everywhere I turned, someone stepped forward with kindness that felt ancient in its depth. This entry is my thank-you to them—the people who made Egypt not just breathtaking, but personal.

The first blessing of my trip came in the form of Dalia Dod, one of the finest guides I have ever known. Dalia wasn’t just informative—she was intuitive. She understood what I needed before I even said it out loud. She matched her knowledge to my curiosity, her humor to my wonder, her patience to my excitement. Dalia taught me Egypt, yes, but she also held space for me to fall in love with it. She is a rare soul, a listener, a teacher, and a friend. There’s a reason she is the first name I write here.

In Aswan, I had the joy of riding with Nubi, who began as a driver and ended as a friend. He didn’t just drive me—he looked after me. He made sure I was safe, hydrated, not overpaying, not getting rushed. He told me stories, laughed with me, taught me small phrases, and cracked jokes that made the Nile feel warmer than the desert sun. There’s a word Egyptians use—habibi—and that’s what he felt like by the end: a brother of joy.

And then there was Ashraf in Abu Simbel. I don’t even know how to express what he became to me in those few hours. He wasn’t a guide or a driver—he was like a brother. He watched over me with calm, gentle steadiness as if he had known me all his life. He took care of every detail, every moment of that magical pilgrimage to a place I had dreamed of my entire life. It was Ashraf who made sure the experience wasn’t just awe-inspiring, but grounding—human. I didn’t expect to meet a brother at the edge of the desert, but there he was.

Back in Cairo, I met Gisselle Vallejos, YouTube star and a really terrific human, and gifted her with a portrait. The next day I met Habeba Nasser Qutp, my brilliant guide at the Grand Egyptian Museum. Our time together was a whirlwind—so much knowledge, so many artifacts, such a dazzling mind guiding me through the brand-new halls of the GEM. And then she gave me something that left me giddy: a handcrafted birthday card. In a city of twenty-five million people, she made me feel like the only one who had mattered that day. That is a gift I’ll never forget.

And these are only a few of the names. There were countless others: Mohammed, who brought me hibiscus tea while I sketched on Hannag Island, the woman who grabbed my arm to guide me safely across a chaotic Cairo street, the café owner who insisted I sit in the “best seat” because he thought Americans needed shade, the felucca captains who gave me silence when I needed it and conversation when I didn’t. The strangers who smiled wide and said, “Welcome home.” The children who ran past me yelling, “Hello, Rameses!” because of my goatee. The shopkeepers who treated me like a guest, not a customer. Every one of them folded me into the fabric of their country as if I belonged there.

Traveling to Egypt changed me—but Egyptians are the reason it changed me so deeply. They didn’t owe me anything. Yet they gave me everything: safety, guidance, humor, understanding, hospitality, compassion, and a kind of human warmth that I didn’t even know I was starving for until I felt it again. I am writing this from Denver, but part of my heart is still there—wandering through temples, floating on the Nile, drinking tea, laughing with people whose names deserve a square on the quilt of my life.

To Dalia, Nubi, Ashraf, Gisselle and Habeba—thank you. And to all the others whose names I never learned but whose kindness I’ll never forget—thank you, too. You carried me through Egypt, and in doing so, you carried me back to myself.

Hey, if you’ve been following The Yellow Shoe Diaries, I hope you’ll share this entry with someone who needs a reminder that the world, at its core, is full of good people.

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